


When You Don't Have the Monet to Make the Van Gogh: Or, A Rodin Not Taken

by azurish



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018), Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Character Death Fix, F/F, Gen, Heist, M/M, Misses Clause Challenge, Post-Canon, Sibling Rivalry, fake married, or technically fake-engaged-while-actually-dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurish/pseuds/azurish
Summary: “Tammy, Tammy, Tammy,” Debbie said.  “Oh ye of little faith.Anyonecan steal a flimsy piece of canvas.  You know what takes real mastery?”“Being the more mature sibling and letting your brother win?” Tammy offered, without much hope.“Stealing a one ton statue.”Danny and Debbie set their sights on the same target.  The jury may be out on whether there's honor between thieves, but there certainly is sibling rivalry.
Relationships: Danny Ocean & Debbie Ocean, Danny Ocean/Rusty Ryan if you squint, Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean
Comments: 17
Kudos: 167
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	When You Don't Have the Monet to Make the Van Gogh: Or, A Rodin Not Taken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caphairdadbeard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caphairdadbeard/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! I saw you liked Danny/Rusty-Debbie/Lou parallels, and, uh, I could not resist the sibling rivalry crack. Or the pun. (This story was initially about a Picasso and a Rodin, but then I saw the light/needed a title.) Sorry that I know nothing about art, security, or the criminal underground? :D If you squint, there's background Danny/Rusty, as well as Tammy/Nine Ball and Daphne/Rose.

The door to the chic Parisian apartment Lou had found had barely swung shut behind Tammy before she announced, “We’ve got a problem.”

All the team members gathered in the main room met her declaration with silence, and then: “Hey, we could focus on the positive,” Nine Ball said, without looking up from her laptop. “We’ve also got a lot of _non_ -problems. Not that anyone asked, but these cameras are –”

“It’s your brother,” Tammy interrupted, locking eyes with Debbie as the other woman emerged from the kitchen. “Or, well, technically it’s Rusty, but wherever he is –”

“Danny can’t be far behind,” Debbie finished, nodding. “Dammit.”

“I’m just saying, it’s a glass half-full situation,” said Nine Ball. “Sure, Debbie’s legend of a bro might be trying to push his way in on our job, _but_ we also have full access to the gallery’s camera feed now. We might not be able to get into the rest of that stupid fancy system, but those cameras are _ours_.”

“There should be pie ready in half an hour,” Lou offered, dusting her hands off on her apron as she appeared behind Debbie. Indeed, the savory smell of rhubarb pie had been wafting out of the kitchen for the past half-hour. Lou had taken the fresh produce in Paris’s open air markets as something between a challenge to her baking skills and an opportunity to bribe smiles out of Debbie with new treats. The rest of the team had wisely chosen not to comment and reaped the rewards. “You could call it celebratory pie. Although you might want to save that for after you figure out whether Danny has already hacked the same cameras, because that’s going to be a little tougher than just getting into the feeds in the first place.” Debbie’s nod confirming the change in plans was far more for Nine Ball’s sake than for Lou’s.

Blasé, Nine Ball just turned back to her laptop, the keys already clicking away under her fingers. Her professional pride had been wounded when the first-of-its-kind, closed-code system employed by the private gallery had resisted even her best efforts at hacking it. Try as she might to hide it behind her cool, her affront was clear; giving her something new to do might help her get over the frustration.

“Did Rusty see you?” Debbie asked Tammy. “Never mind, we should just assume he saw you if you saw him. OK, Danny’s going to know we’re shooting for the Rodin and that the Monet is just a distraction. In that case –”

“Hang on, is no one going to say anything about the fact that her brother is supposed to be _dead_?” Rose demanded, pointing at Debbie. In the heart of French fashion, Rose had begun to pine for her old passions, at least if the asymmetric plum jacket and long, pleated skirt she was wearing were any indication. The fashion world had yet to reciprocate her renewed attentions.

Technically, Lou said nothing in response to Rose’s question, but the entire team knew that the single blond eyebrow she raised was as eloquent a reply as an entire paragraph. Of course, if the others saw the mockery in Lou’s gesture, Lou knew that _Debbie_ could certainly read the dash of indulgent fondness for the designer hidden in the tiny uptick at the corner of her mouth. But Lou liked maintaining her air of mystique, and Debbie was hardly going to betray the truth to the team.

Rose pouted, but she offered no further objections. Daphne patted her shoulder in sympathy, fingers trailing over the plush velvet of Rose’s puff sleeve.

“I haven’t seen Rusty during any of my other surveillance check-ins, but it’s been a while since I last ran into him and your brother. I could have missed him,” Tammy admitted.

“So we can’t be sure how long they’ve been casing the joint,” Constance concluded, and Tammy sighed and nodded.

“Probably too much to ask, but you didn’t happen to catch any clues about what their plan is, did you?” Debbie asked.

“Not a thing,” Tammy said, throwing herself down on the couch. Wordlessly, Nine Ball shifted over to make space for her, swinging her feet into her lap as she worked.

Debbie turned to regard Lou. “What do you think, insurers or art critics?” she asked, after considering Lou for several long moments.

Lou just tilted her head to the side.

“You’re right, they’re not going to go with insurance agents after that mess in Pisa,” Debbie agreed. “Art critics it is. Let’s assume they’ve been after the Rodin at least as long as we have – if Danny’s interested in sculpture these days, he won’t have missed the article we saw. So if they’re going in as art critics, that should give us, what, four or five days?”

“I’d say three,” Lou said. When Debbie frowned at her, she added, “What? I just call it how I see it, sweetheart. Your brother always moves a little too fast when he’s trying to impress Rusty.”

“As opposed to Debbie, who never moves too fast to impress you,” Amita muttered, and Lou stifled a grin as Debbie serenely ignored the aspersion.

“If Danny’s going to make his move this Thursday, we’ve got to be ready to implement on Wednesday,” Debbie declared. When her crew groaned, she said, “Look, I know it’s not ideal to speed up our time table that much, but no one here wants to get scooped by a _different_ group of criminals. All our work over the last month, for nothing?”

“You know, technically we’re all millionaires already,” Tammy said.

“Yeah, but _technically_ I’m not cool with missing out on a once-in-a-lifetime heist opportunity – even if we’re getting beaten by Debbie’s only-mostly-dead older brother,” Constance said. “No offense.”

“None taken,” said Debbie.

“You haven’t seen how explosive things get when multiple Oceans appear on the scene,” Tammy opined darkly. “Vegas, 2007. Hong Kong, 2010. Vegas again, actually, 2012. What is it about Vegas?”

“And yet Vegas is still standing,” said Debbie.

“As far as you know,” Tammy shot back, but she settled grumpily back into the couch, frowning at her unfazed teammates. Nine Ball poked her with one toe and, ruffled as she was, Tammy still couldn’t help smileing. “Look, all I’m saying is, why not just throw your brother and Rusty a bone? We could steal something else. That Monet looks great!”

“Tammy, Tammy, Tammy,” Debbie said. “Oh ye of little faith. _Anyone_ can steal a flimsy piece of canvas. You know what takes real mastery?”

“Being the more mature sibling and letting your brother win?” Tammy offered, without much hope.

“Stealing a one ton statue.” Debbie clapped her hands. “All right, people. Amita, I want to see how those mock-ups of the engagement ring are coming along. And Daphne and Constance, how about you go with Lou to pick up the truck this evening? It’ll save time if you’re already familiar with the interior. Everyone else, you know what you need to do. Let’s get to it!”

As the crew scattered, Lou overheard a sulky Rose whispering to Daphne, “There was a memorial and all! It was a legitimate question.” She caught Debbie’s eye just in time to see the puckish amusement and flicker of pride in her lover’s expression. All things considered, it was a good look on Debbie, and Lou felt a quiet glow of something warm in her own chest in response. Annoying as he might be, Danny Ocean had a special place in her heart for the way he made her Deb smile.

*

If Lou had a soft spot for Danny Ocean, Rusty Ryan often provoked an entirely different kind of reaction in her. She was uncomfortably reminded of that fact when she found herself face to face with her erstwhile counterpart at the art gallery bright and early Wednesday morning. It was a full day before they had expected him and Danny to make their move, and yet here Rusty was.

If Rusty felt anything like the irritation Lou did at discovering the other Ocean sibling horning in on his job, it was hidden beneath that easy golden smile. He was wearing an oversized camera that Lou immediately clocked as fake and had a press badge clipped to his belt. He held a cheap notebook in one hand, ostensibly taking notes on the elite single-floor gallery around them, and his off-brand blue suit practically screamed “underpaid journalist.” Grudgingly, she found herself approving of the attentiveness to detail; that had always been the foundation of much of the hard-won respect she held for Rusty, after all.

Rusty’s eyes widened with puzzlement, as though he’d never seen them before, and then made a show of looking at the ostentatious diamond on Lou’s hand. Lou chided herself when she noticed the impulse to tuck it away out of sight in response. “So _you_ must be the brides I’ve heard so much about,” he said at last. “I’m Ryan Laurent, with _La nouvelle revue d’esthétique_.”

“Nice to meet you,” Lou said, ignoring the urge to roll her eyes and putting on her own smile for the sake of the museum staff who had been bustling her and Debbie through the gallery. As far as they knew, after all, she was just an Australian heiress with more money than sense, whose fiancé was so madly in love with her that she was going to rent out the private gallery for the night. And so Lou intentionally tripped over the pronunciation when she added, “Uh, _enchanté_.”

After a moment, Rusty unexpectedly darted his gaze up from the ring to meet her eyes and his expression sharpened with sincerity. When he spoke next, there was an odd edge to his words, their double meaning lurking so close to the surface that Lou could practically hear the echo. “Well, you’re making our job here _that_ much harder, but I do have to say – congratulations on the wedding,” he said. He held first Lou and then Debbie’s gaze for just a few seconds too long. Debbie’s arm shifted possessively around Lou’s side, and Lou found herself unexpectedly having to bite back an actual smile. She’d never admit to wanting Debbie’s brother’s blessing, much less Rusty’s, but Lou felt something smug settle inside her.

Then the honesty faded from Rusty’s expression and he was back to playing a stranger as he complained, “I just wish we’d gotten all the photos we need for the _Revue_ ’s feature before they packed away all the valuable art for your party tonight.”

“Yes, well, you know how these little galleries are with their security,” Debbie said airily. She waved a careless hand across the room at the uniformed security guard methodically disabling the alarms around the Monet and packing it away for safe storage. Nearby, another staff member was unobtrusively preparing several more of the gallery’s most expensive pieces for the same treatment.

If Lou hadn’t known better, she could have sworn the two women really _were_ just contract security professionals. Constance and Daphne more than looked the part. Rose had really outdone herself with recreating the security firm’s uniforms.

“I _wanted_ to have the real Monet on the walls for our guests tonight, but the gallery staff told us that it was – what did you say again?” Debbie asked, turning to the long-suffering gallery representative who was ferrying them about.

“An uninsurable security risk,” the harried agent said, trying to mask his annoyance beneath a tight, professional smile. Nine Ball and Constance had been playing merry hell with the gallery all week, from prank calls to nearby fire alarms, and it was more than paying off today in how distractible and overworked the gallery’s main staff were.

“Well, you can hardly blame them for wanting to avoid _that_ ,” Rusty said, mischief apparent only in how very studied his grave expression was.

“I guess you’re right,” Debbie replied, and Lou fought the urge to nudge her partner’s side, because Debbie was having too much fun with this. “Still, what a shame …”

“I really _love_ Monet,” Lou chimed in wistfully, dutifully playing her role as a distraction. _Seal the deal …_

“Have you seen the outdoor courtyard yet?” the gallery representative asked, his desperation to distract his clients and get the valuable painting securely stored away as quickly as possible more than apparent.

“We saw it last week,” Debbie told him imperiously, but she allowed them to be led away, tugging Lou with her as she went. Still, Lou cast one last look over her shoulder at Rusty as they strode along, watching him until they turned the corner. They’d been planning this heist for an entire month, and, Danny Ocean and Rusty Ryan or no, nothing was going to interfere with their plans.

*

In retrospect, limiting her concerns to Danny and Rusty had been her mistake, Lou reflected, as she watched the back gate of the loading bay where Constance and Daphne had left their security van, filled with all its nicely-packaged-up art, disappear in a controlled-yet-fiery explosion.

“ _Basher_ ,” Debbie said.

“Basher,” Lou agreed with a sigh.

*

It was a singed and disheartened crew who gathered back in Lou’s base of operations the next morning. Debbie and Lou had spent the night at the gallery, running clean-up on the job; even if the Rodin had been long gone by the time the smoke had cleared, _they_ still needed to firm up their alibis, recover their safety deposit, and cancel their party at the gallery. Daphne and Constance had found themselves under intense scrutiny after Danny’s crew had lifted the Rodin from under their noses – the security contractor disguises were never meant to withstand such pressure. Nine Ball had been up until dawn erasing any identifiable images from the security cameras, and Tammy, who had been supervising from the apartment while Lou and Debbie were at the gallery, had gotten to watch on multiple screens as everything descended into smoke-filled confusion.

“Well, I concede,” Daphne, who had been the last to arrive, said sourly. She had been forced to draw on all her considerable acting skills to play the role of innocent security guard caught up in the chaos. “Tammy, I withdraw everything I said. You were right. It’s not worth it to get between the Ocean siblings.”

Glumly, Tammy accepted Daphne’s words with a sad wave of acknowledgement from her fork. Nine Ball had brought her celebration-turned-commiseration leftover rhubarb pie earlier.

“Although in our defense,” added Rose, “I don’t think any of us realized how literal you were being when you talked about explosions following the Ocean siblings. What a waste of time!”

“I don’t know,” Debbie said slowly. “You might want to wait just a minute before calling it a _total_ waste. Lou? If you would do the honors?” She held out an open palm, a smirk spreading across her face.

“You know, you’re _supposed_ to say ‘I do’ before you ask me to give you a ring, darling.” Lou finished pulling her fake engagement ring off her finger and tossed it casually across the room.

Debbie caught it with a wink and began unscrewing the diamond from its setting. Tammy, Daphne, Nine Ball, Rose, and Constance were all regarding her with bafflement, but Amita had begun to join her in smiling. “While my brother was making off with the Rodin, _Lou_ was securing the real prize. Ah, got it!”

As she had been speaking, she had been fiddling with the diamond; now, she held up the diamondless ring to reveal the jewelry’s secret. Worked carefully into the thick coils that formed the body of the chunky ring, hidden beneath the diamond, was a folding USB connecter. It had taken Amita almost all month to design the tiny connector and fit it undetectably into the ring, but the recognizable metal plug snapped into place after Debbie carefully unfolded several intricate pieces from the ring’s setting.

“You see, the Rodin might have been the most _obvious_ prize at the gallery,” Debbie continued. “But why steal something heavily secured when you can steal the security itself?”

Nine Ball’s jaw dropped. “Shut the hell up, you _didn’t_.”

Debbie’s expression was as pleased as that of the proverbial cat. “We did. While the gallery staff was so busy dealing with the fallout last night, we got up to our own mischief. We had _thought_ we’d have to sneak in during the chaos following the theft, but courtesy of our friend Basher Tarr and Danny, we got a much, much better distraction than we’d planned for. Lou snuck into their IT control room, so she could download the closed-system source code for their self-contained, next-gen security system. We’re the only people in the world who have this right now – except for the clients who are contracting with its creators.”

“Oh my God,” Tammy breathed, as she joined Nine Ball in figuring the trick out. “Debbie Ocean, you – you _sister_ of a son of a bitch.”

“Let’s just say that I’ve heard that the Louvre is in the market for a new IT system,” Debbie said.

“The Met,” Lou offered.

“The Smithsonian,” Debbie countered.

“And any number of private galleries,” Lou finished.

“Ladies,” Debbie said, leaning in with that sly, satisfied smile Lou had never, _never_ been able to resist – the smile that told you that she knew the secret to how the world worked and was going to let you in on it, that she knew the punchline to the joke and was going to make you laugh, that she and only she could show you what your wildest dreams were and make them come true before your eyes – “who wants to visit some museums?”


End file.
